


Midnight Contemplations

by Luthienberen



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Introspection, Missing Scene, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 15:39:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14547951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: After their conversation (argument) at what happened at the Imperial Russian Ballet, Watson mulls over what was said and unsaid.





	Midnight Contemplations

**Author's Note:**

> This is set after the scene in The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes, where Holmes pretends he and Watson are in a relationship and Watson confronts him when at home. I wondered what Watson must have thought about Holmes’ parting words. So, this is a little exploration. A ‘missing scene’ if you will.

Watson lay in bed unable to sleep. His mind was too busy to sleep, as if not only London did not sleep, neither could one of its inhabitants. _“…you’re being presumptuous.”_

Oh, how those words haunted him! Why did the infernal man have to say such a thing? Why on the heels of that farce at Swan Lake?

Twisting in bed, Watson gazed at his curtains. They fluttered in the breeze, like the ballet dancers’ skirts had when twirling. He and Holmes were a ‘caprice of Mother Nature’ to the Imperial Russian ballet. Holmes had indicated such a relationship to escape and then dismissed Watson’s justifiable fear and anger.

He had been slightly over the top yes. And of _course,_ Watson would never stop being friends with Holmes. His panic had led him to wild stupid plans.

_However,_ his argument was that he _wasn’t_ an invert and neither was Holmes.

_“…you’re being presumptuous.”_

Watson clenched the bed covers in his hands, ears ringing, heart pounding. No, Holmes couldn’t be! His friend was merely offended at Watson’s presumption that his cover story was real…

Watson turned onto his back again, eyes staring into the dark. Yet if Holmes _was_ an invert, what then? He knew what the law said, what their fellow men and women would say.

What Watson had said!

Watson groaned quietly. No wonder Holmes was disappointed. If he was an invert, his dear friend Watson had not received the hint, but had been furious and ready to flee in a panic at the suggestion that they were together romantically.

Now that his immediate reaction had passed Watson could examine his feelings on the affair. So, he was Holmes’…what was it that Holmes had been mumbling when Watson had slipped up to his friend’s door wishing to knock and make amends?

He had heard Holmes muttering then saying, “my glass of tea”. Watson had guessed from the rest of the mumbled sentence that referred to Watson, himself.

So, he or at least men might be Holmes’ “glass of tea”. Probably Holmes used Watson as a plausible candidate instead of an unknown stranger, rather than actually preferring Watson.

Yes, that made sense. Watson ran a hand over his forehead, feeling a headache coming on.

Nikolai Rogozhin had been so blasé. The pretty dancers and the men not hesitating to switch to accommodate his supposed preference.

So, would the Imperial Russian Ballet have anything to gain by spreading such rumours about them? Or even be interested enough? What would they gain, when such action would embarrass their Prima Donna for being turned down yet again?

Shame filled Watson. While his anger and fear had been understandable considering his standing in society, with his army chums and the law, to lash out at Holmes had been unacceptable.

Damn. If Holmes was an invert did he care? Watson shivered. If Holmes was a confirmed bachelor for instance, it made no difference surely? How did knowing or suspecting change Holmes? 

He still admired Holmes and he loved the moments they spent together. On a case, at lunch or listening to music, visiting the theatre or merely sitting quietly in each other’s company, these moments were integral to Watson’s life.

Even when Holmes was in one of his black moods or taking that infernal drug, Watson could not abandon his friend. He just tried to stop such moods before they happened or to alleviate them. In the case of Holmes’ drug, he was guilty as charged with diluting the solution.

He couldn’t leave Holmes or abandon their friendship. Never. Not even for inversion or the suspicion of it. He wasn’t an invert – oh, he loved Holmes and couldn’t imagine life without him, but that was different to loving Holmes romantically.

His headache seemed to be increasing at his convoluted thoughts. Watson twisted in bed again, facing the window. Headache or no, Watson felt slightly better for reaching some sort of understanding within himself.

His friendship with Holmes was too important to allow it to fail on the rocks of whether they were involved (or not as the case was), or Holmes possibly preferring men.

Unfortunately, none of that had come through in their argument earlier.

His headache was a painful throb behind his eyes.

Watson massaged his temples for want of anything better to do. He needed to decide on a course of action, but first this deplorable headache.

Sitting up in bed, Watson fluffed his pillow and fumbled for the match, so he could strike a light. A moment later he winced as he the lit candle by his bedside. Carefully, rising Watson sought out his small bag where he kept some medicines.  

He loathed taking laudanum, but he would be good for nothing in the morning otherwise. As he found the supply he kept in his room, Watson knew he would have to make amends with Holmes and somehow carefully indicate that if men were Holmes’ glass of tea then Watson did not care.

He had no idea what to do if Holmes _him_ specifically, beyond a refusal to let it ruin their friendship. He would cross that bridge if it came to it.

Watson sighed. “Well, old boy. Now _that_ is decided, how the deuce do I manage to get my point across subtly?”

London did not answer, but Watson was able to sleep at last, his mind more at peace now. He would work out his strategy in the morning.


End file.
